CHAPTER V.

THE MOUNT OF LAWS.

I.

And now, that we may stride on the faster, we must step back a pace or two. What happened to Greeba after she parted from her father at Krisuvik, and took up her employment as nurse to the sick prisoners, we partly know already from the history of Red Jason and Michael Sunlocks. Accused of unchastity, she was turned away from the hospital; and suspected of collusion to effect the escape of some prisoner unrecognized, she was ordered to leave the neighborhood of the Sulphur Mines. But where her affections are at stake a woman's wit is more than a match for a man's cunning, and Greeba contrived to remain at Krisuvik. For her material needs she still had the larger part of the money that her brothers, in their scheming selfishness, had brought her, and she had her child to cheer her solitude. It was a boy, unchristened as yet, save in the secret place of her heart, where it bore a name that she dare not speak. And if its life was her shame in the eyes of the good folk who gave her shelter, it was a dear and sweet dishonor, for well she knew and loved to remember that one word from her would turn it to glory and to joy.

"If only I dare tell," she would whisper into her babe's ear again and again. "If I only dare!"

But its father's name she never uttered, and so with pride for her secret, and honor for her disgrace, she clung the closer to both, though they were sometimes hard to bear, and she thought a thousand times they were a loving and true revenge on him that had doubted her love and told her she had married him for the poor glory of his place.

Not daring to let herself be seen within range of the Sulphur Mines, she sought out the prisoner-priest from time to time, where he lived in the partial liberty of the Free Command, and learned from him such tidings of her husband as came his way. The good man knew nothing of the identity of Michael Sunlocks in that world of bondage where all identity was lost, save that A 25 was the husband of the woman who waited without. But that was Greeba's sole secret, and the true soul kept it.

And so the long winter passed, and the summer came, and Greeba was content to live by the side of Sunlocks, content to breathe the air he breathed, to have the same sky above her, to share the same sunshine and the same rain, only repining when she remembered that while she was looking for love into the eyes of their child, he was slaving like a beast of burden; but waiting, waiting, waiting, withal for the chance--she knew not what--that must release him yet, she knew not when.

Her great hour came at length, but an awful blow came with it. One day the prisoner-priest hurried up to the farm where she lived, and said, "I have sad news for you; forgive me; prisoner A25 has met with an accident."

She did not stay to hear more, but with her child in her arms she hurried away to the Mines, and there in the tempest of her trouble the secret of months went to the winds in an instant.

"Where is he?" she cried. "Let me see him. He is my husband."

"Your husband!" said the warders, and without more ado they laid hands upon her and carried her off to their Captain.

"This woman," they said, "turns out to be the wife of A25."

"As I suspected," the Captain answered.

"Where is my husband?" Greeba cried. "What accident has befallen him? Take me to him."

"First tell me why you came to this place," said the Captain.

"To be near my husband," said Greeba.

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing."

"Who is this other man?" asked the Captain.

"What man?" said Greeba.

Then they told her that her husband was gone, having been carried off by a fellow-prisoner who had effected the escape of both of them.

"Escaped!" cried Greeba, with a look of bewilderment, glancing from face to face of the men about her. "Then it is not true that he has met with an accident. Thank God, oh! thank God!" And she clutched her child closer to her breast, and kissed it.

"We know nothing of that either way," said the Captain. "But tell us who and what is this other man? His number here was B25. His name is Jason."

At that, Greeba gazed up again with a terrified look of inquiry.

"Jason?" she cried.

"Yes, who is he?" the Captain asked.

And Greeba answered, after a pause, "His own brother."

"We might have thought as much," said the Captain.

There was another pause, and then Greeba said, "Yes, his own brother, who has followed him all his life to kill him."

The Captain smiled upon his warders and said, "It didn't look like it, madam."

"But it is true," said Greeba.

"He has been your husband's best friend," said the Captain.

"He is my husband's worst enemy," said Greeba.

"He has carried him off, I tell you," said the Captain.

"Then it is only that he may have his wicked will of him," said Greeba. "Ah, sir, you will tell me I don't know what I'm saying. But I know too well. It was for attempting my husband's life that Jason was sent to this place. That was before your time; but look and see if I speak the truth. Now I know it is false that my husband is only injured. Would he were! Would he were! Yet, what am I saying? Mercy me, what am I saying? But, only think, he has been carried off to his death. I know he has--I am sure he has; and better, a thousand thousand times better, that he should be here, however injured, with me to nurse him! But what am I saying again? Indeed, I don't know what I am saying. Oh, sir, forgive me; and heaven forgive me, also. But send after that man. Send instantly. Don't lose an hour more. Oh, believe me, sir, trust me, sir, for I am a broken-hearted woman; and why should I not speak the truth?"

"All this is very strange," said the Captain. "But set your mind at ease about the man Jason. The guards have already gone in pursuit of him, and he cannot escape. It is not for me to say your story is not true, though the facts, as we know them, discredit it. But, true or not, you shall tell it to the Governor as you have told it to me, so prepare to leave Krisuvik immediately."

And in less than an hour more Greeba was riding between two of the guards towards the valley of Thingvellir.

II.

Jorgen Jorgensen had thrice hardened his heart against Michael Sunlocks: first, when he pushed Sunlocks into Althing, and found his selfish ends were not thereby in the way of advancement; next, when he fell from his place and Sunlocks took possession of it; again, when he regained his stool and Sunlocks was condemned to the Sulphur Mines. But most of all he hated Sunlocks when old Adam Fairbrother came to Reykjavik and demanded for him, as an English subject, the benefit of judge and jury.

"We know of no jury here," said Jorgen; "and English subject or not English subject, this man has offended against the laws of Denmark."

"Then the laws of Denmark shall condemn him," said Adam, bravely, "and not the caprice of a tyrant governor."

"Keep a civil tongue in your old head, sir," said Jorgen, "or you may learn to your cost how far that caprice can go."

"I care nothing for your threats, sir," said Adam, "and I mean to accuse you before your master."

"Do your worst," said Jorgen, "and take care how you do it."

And at first Adam's worst seemed likely to be little, for hardly had he set foot in Reykjavik when he was brought front to front with the material difficulty that the few pounds with which he had set out were spent. Money was justice, and justice money, on that rock of the sea, as elsewhere, and on the horns of his dilemma, Adam bethought him to write to his late master, the Duke of Athol, explaining his position, and asking for the loan of fifty pounds. A long month passed before he got back his answer. The old Duke sent forty pounds as a remonstrance against Adam's improvidence, and stern counsel to him to return forthwith to the homes of his children. In the meantime the old Bishop, out of love of Michael Sunlocks and sympathy with Greeba, had taken Adam into his house at Reykjavik. From there old Adam had sent petitions to the Minister at Copenhagen, petitions to the Danish Rigsdag, and finally petitions to the Danish King. His reward had been small, for no justice, or promise of justice, could he get.

But Jorgen Jorgensen had sat no easier on his seat for Adam's zealous efforts. He had been hurried out of his peace by Government inquiries, and terrified by Government threats. But he had wriggled, he had lied, he had used subterfuge after subterfuge, and so pushed on the evil day of final reckoning.

And while his hoary head lay ill at ease because of the troubles that came from Copenhagen, the gorge of his stomach rose at the bitter waters he was made to drink at Reykjavik. He heard the name of Michael Sunlocks on every lip, as a name of honor, a name of affection, a name to conjure with whenever and wherever men talked of high talents, justice, honor and truth.

Jorgen perceived that the people of Iceland had recovered from the first surprise and suspicion that followed on the fall of their Republic, and no longer saw Michael Sunlocks as their betrayer, but had begun to regard him as their martyr. They loved him still. If their hour ever came they would restore him. On the other hand, Jorgen realized that he himself was hated where he was not despised, jeered at where he was not feared, and that the men whom he had counted upon because he had bought them with the places in his gift, smiled loftily upon him as upon one who had fallen on his second childhood. And so Jorgen Jorgensen hardened his heart against Michael Sunlocks, and vowed that the Sulphur Mines of Krisuvik should see the worst and last of him.

He heard of Jason, too, that he was not dead, as they had supposed, but alive, and that he had been sent to the Mines for attempting the life of Sunlocks. That attempt seemed to him to come of a natural passion, and as often as he spoke of it he warmed up visibly, not out of any human tenderness towards Jason, but with a sense of wild triumph over Sunlocks. And the more he thought of Jason, the firmer grew his resolve to take him out of the Sulphur Mines and place him by his side, not that his old age needed a stay, not that he was a lonely old man, and Jason was his daughter's son, but only because Jason hated Sunlocks and would crush him if by chance he rose again.

With such thoughts uppermost he went down to Krisuvik, and there his bitter purpose met with a shock. He found Jason the sole ally of Michael Sunlocks, his friend, his defender and champion against tyranny. It was then that he ordered the ruthless punishment of Sunlocks, that he should be nailed by his right hand to a log of driftwood, with meat and drink within sight but out of reach of him, and a huge knife by his side. And when Jason had liberated Sunlocks from this inhuman cruelty, and the two men, dearest foes and deadliest friends, were brought before him for their punishment, the gall of Jorgen's fate seemed to suffocate him. "Strap them up together," he cried, "leg to leg and arm to arm." Thus he thought to turn their love to hate; but he kept his own counsel, and left the Sulphur Mines without saying what evil dream had brought him there, or confessing to his Danish officers the relation wherein this other prisoner stood to him, for secrecy is the chain-armor of the tyrant.

Back in Reykjavik he comforted himself with the assurance that Michael Sunlocks must die. "There was death in his face," he thought, "and he cannot last a month longer. Besides, he will fall to fighting with the other, and the other will surely kill him. Blind fools, both of them!"

In this mood he made ready for Thingvellir, and set out with all his people. Since the revolution, he had kept a bodyguard of five and twenty men, and with this following he was crossing the slope of the Basket Hill, behind the capital, when he saw half a score of the guards from Krisuvik riding at a gallop from the direction of Hafnafiord. They were the men who had been sent in pursuit of Red Jason and Michael Sunlocks, the same that had passed them in the hummock, where the carcase of the dog still lay.

Then Jorgen Jorgensen received news that terrified him.

Michael Sunlocks had escaped, and Red Jason had escaped with him. They had not been seen at Hafnafiord, and no ship had set sail from there since yesterday. Never a trace of them had been found on any of the paths from Krisuvik, and it was certain that they must be in the interior still. Would his Excellency lend them ten men more to scour the country?

Such was the message of the guards, and at hearing it Jorgen's anger and fear overmastered him.

"Fools! Blockheads! Asses!" he cried. "The man is making for Reykjavik. He knows what he is doing if you do not. Is not this the time of Althing, and must I not leave Reykjavik for Thingvellir? He is making for Reykjavik now! Once let him set foot there, and these damned Icelanders will rise at the sight of him. Then you may scour the country till you fall dead and turn black, and he will only laugh at the sight of you. Back, you blockheads, back! Back to Reykjavik, every man of you! And I am going back with you."

Thus driven by his frantic terror, Jorgen Jorgensen returned to the capital and searched every house and hovel, every hole and sty, for the two fugitives; and when he had satisfied himself that they were not anywhere within range of Reykjavik, his fears remembered Thingvellir, and what mischief might be going forward in his absence. So next day he left his body-guard with the guard from Krisuvik to watch the capital, and set out alone for the Mount of Laws.

III.

The lonely valley of Thingvellir was alive that morning with a great throng of people. They came from the west by the Chasm of All Men, from the east by the Chasm of Ravens, and from the south by the lake. Troop after troop flowed into the vast amphitheatre that lies between dark hills and great jokulls tipped with snow. They pitched their tents on the green patch, under the fells to the north, and tying their ponies together, head to tail, they turned them loose to graze. Hundreds of tents were there by early morning, gleaming white in the sunlight, and tens of hundreds of ponies, shaggy and unkempt, grubbed among the short grass that grew between.

Near the middle of the plain stood the Mount of Laws, a lava island of oval shape, surrounded by a narrow stream, and bounded by overhanging walls cut deep with fissures. Around this mount the people gathered. There friend met friend, foe met foe, rival met rival, northmen met southmen, the Westmann islander met the Grimsey islander, and the man from Seydisfiord met the man from Patriksfiord. And because Althing gathered only every other year, many musty kisses went round, with snuffboxes after them, among those who had not met before for two long years.

It was a vast assembly, chiefly of men, in their homespun and sheepskins and woollen stockings, cross-gartered with hemp from ankle to knee. Women, too, and young girls and children were there, all wearing their Sunday best. And in those first minutes of their meeting, before Althing began, the talk was of crops and stock, of the weather, and of what sheep had been lost in the last two hard winters. The day had opened brightly, with clear air and bright sunshine, but the blue sky had soon become overcast with threatening clouds, and this lead to stories of strange signs in the heavens, and unaccustomed noises on the earth and under it.

A man from the south spoke of rain of black dust as having fallen three nights before until the ground was covered deep with it. Another man, from the foot of Hekla, told of a shock of earthquake that had lately been felt there, travelling northeast to southwest. A third man spoke of grazing his horse on the wild oats of a glen that he had passed through, with a line of some twenty columns of smoke burst suddenly upon his view. All this seemed to pass from lip to lip in the twinkling of an eye, and when young men asked what the signs might mean, old men lifted both hands and shook their heads, and prayed that the visitations which their island had seen before might never come to it again.

Such was the talk, and such the mood of the people when the hour arrived for the business of Althing to begin, and then all eyes turned to the little wooden Thing House by the side of the church, wherein the Thing-men were wont to gather for their procession to the Mount of Laws. And when the hour passed, and the procession had not yet appeared, the whisper went around that the Governor had not arrived, and that the delay was meant to humor him. At that the people began to mutter among themselves, for the slumbering fire of their national spirit had been stirred. By his tardy coming the Governor meant to humiliate them! But, Governor or no Governor, let Althing begin its sitting. Who was the Governor that Althing should wait for him? What was Althing that it should submit to the whim or the will of any Governor?

Within the Thing House, as well as outside of it, such hot protests must have had sway, for presently the door of the little place was thrown open and the six and thirty Thing-men came out.

Then followed the solemn ceremonies that had been observed on the spot for nigh a thousand years. First walked the Chief Judge, carrying the sword of justice, and behind him walked his magistrates and Thing-men. They ascended to the Mount by a flight of steps cut out of its overhanging walls. At the same moment another procession, that of the old Bishop and his clergy, came out of the church and ascended to the Mount by a similar flight of steps cut out of the opposite side of it. The two companies parted, the Thing-men to the north and the clergy to the south, leaving the line of this natural causeway open and free, save for the Judge, who stood at the head of it, with the Bishop to the right of him and the Governor's empty place to the left.

And first the Bishop offered prayer for the sitting of Althing that was then to begin.

"Thou Judge of Israel," he prayed, in the terrible words which had descended to him through centuries, "Thou that sittest upon the cherubims, come down and help Thy people. O, most mighty God, who art more pleased with the sacrifice of thanksgiving than with the burnt offerings of bullocks and goats, keep now our mouths from guile and deceit, from slander and from obloquy. O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, endue Thy ministers with righteousness. Give them wisdom that they may judge wisely. Give them mercy that they may judge mercifully. Let them judge this nation as Thou wilt judge Thy people. Let them remember that he who takes the name of justice for his own profit or hatred or revenge is worse than the vulture that watches for the carcase. Let them not forget that howsoever high they stand or proudly they bear themselves, nothing shall they take from hence but the oak for their coffin. Let them be sure that when Thou shalt appear with a consuming fire before Thee and a tempest round about Thee, calling the heaven and the earth together, no portion can they have in that day like to the portion of thine inheritance."

The fierce prayer came to an end, and then the Judge, holding his sword erect, read his charge and repeated his oath, to deal justly between man and man, even as the sword stood upright before him. And the vast assembly of rude men in sheepskins and in homespun looked on and listened, all silent and solemn, all worshipful of law and reverent of its forms.

The oath being taken, the Judge had laid the sword aside and begun to promulgate the new laws, reading them clause by clause, first in Icelandic and then in Danish, when there was an uneasy movement at the outskirts of the crowd to the west of the Mount.

"The Governor," whispered one. "It's himself," muttered another. "He's here at last," murmured a third, and dark were the faces turned round to see. It was the Governor, indeed, and he pushed his way through the closely-packed people, who saw him coming, but stood together like a wall until riven apart by his pony's feet. At the causeway he dismounted and stepped up to the top of the Mount. He looked old and feeble and torn by evil passions; his straight gray hair hung like a blasted sheaf on to his shoulders, his forehead was blistered with blue veins, his cheeks were guttered with wrinkles, his little eyes were cruel, his jaw was broad and heavy, and his mouth was hard and square.

The Judge made him no obeisance, but went on with his reading. The Bishop seemed not to see him, but gazed steadfastly forward. The Thing-men gave no sign.

He stood a moment, and looked around, and the people below could see his wrath rising like a white hand across his haggard face. Then he interrupted and said, "Chief Justice, I have something to say."

All heard the words, and the Speaker stopped, and, amid the breathless silence of the people, he answered quietly, "There will be a time and a place for that, your Excellency."

"The time is now, and the place is here," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, in a tense voice, and quivering with anger. "Listen to me. The rebel and traitor who once usurped the government of this island has escaped."

"Escaped!" cried a hundred voices.

"Michael Sunlocks!" cried as many more.

And a wave of excitement passed over the vast assembly.

"Yes, Michael Sunlocks has escaped," cried Jorgen Jorgensen. "That scoundrel is at liberty. He is free to do his wicked work again. Men of Iceland, I call on you to help me. I call on you to help the Crown of Denmark. The traitor must be taken. I call on you to take him."

A deep murmur ran through the closely-pressed people.

"You've got your guards," shouted a voice from below. "Why do you come to us?"

"Because," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, "my guards are protecting Reykjavik, and because they might scour your island a hundred years and never find what they looked for."

"Thank God!" muttered another voice from below.

"But you know it, every fell and fiord," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, "and never a toad could skulk under a stone but you would root him out of it. Chief Justice," he added, sweeping about, "I have a request to make of you."

"What is it, your Excellency?" said the Judge.

"That you should adjourn this Althing so that every man here present may go out in search of the traitor."

Then a loud involuntary murmur of dissent rose from the people, and at the same moment the Judge said in bewilderment, "What can your Excellency mean?"

"I mean," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, "that if you adjourn this Althing for three days, the traitor will be taken. If not, he will be at liberty as many years. Will you do it?"

"Your Excellency," said the Judge, "Althing has lived nigh upon a thousand years, and every other year for that thousand years it has met on this ancient ground, but never once since it began has the thing you ask been done."

"Let it be done now," cried Jorgen Jorgensen. "Will you do it?"

"We will do our duty by your Excellency," said the Judge, "and we will expect your Excellency to do your duty by us."

"But this man is a traitor," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, "and it is your duty to help me to capture him. Will you do it?"

"And this day is ours by ancient right and custom," said the Judge, "and it is your duty to stand aside."

"I am here for the King of Denmark," cried Jorgen Jorgensen, "and I ask you to adjourn this Althing. Will you do it?"

"And we are here for the people of Iceland," said the Judge, "and we ask you to step back and let us go on."

Then Jorgen Jorgensen's anger knew no bounds.

"You are subjects of the King of Denmark," he cried.

"Before ever Denmark was, we were," answered the Judge, proudly.

"And in his name I demand that you adjourn. Will you do it now?" cried Jorgen Jorgensen, with a grin of triumph.

"No," cried the Judge, lifting an undaunted face to the face of Jorgen Jorgensen.

The people held their breath through this clash of words, but at the Judge's brave answer a murmur of approval passed over them. Jorgen Jorgensen heard it, and flinched, but turned back to the Judge and said,

"Take care. If you do not help me, you hinder me; if you are not with me, you are against me. Is that man a traitor? Answer me--yes or no."

But the Judge made no answer, and there was dead silence among the people, for they knew well in what way the cruel question tended.

"Answer me--yes or no," Jorgen Jorgensen cried again.

Then the Bishop broke silence and said,

"Whatever our hearts may be, your Excellency, our tongues must be silent."

At that, Jorgen Jorgensen faced about to the crowd.

"I put a price on his head," he cried. "Two thousand kroner to anyone who takes him, alive or dead. Who will earn it?"

"No Icelander earns money with blood," said the Bishop. "If this thing is our duty, we will do it without pay. If not, no bribe will tempt us."

"Ay, ay," shouted a hundred voices.

Jorgen Jorgensen flinched again, and his face whitened as he grew darker within.

"So, I see how it is," he said, looking steadfastly at the Bishop, the Judge, and the Thing-men. "You are aiding this traitor's escape. You are his allies, every man of you. And you are seducing and deceiving the people."

Then he faced about towards the crowd more and more, and cried in a loud voice:

"Men of Iceland, you know the man who has escaped. You know what he is, and where he came from; you know he is not one of yourselves, but a bastard Englishman. Then drive him back home. Listen to me. What price did I put on his head? Two thousand kroner! I will give ten thousand! Ten thousand kroner for the man who takes him alive, and twenty thousand kroner--do you hear me?--twenty thousand for the man who takes him dead."

"Silence!" cried the Bishop. "Who are you, sir, that you dare tempt men to murder?"

"Murder!" cried Jorgen Jorgensen. "See how simple are the wise? Men of Iceland, listen to me again. The traitor is an outlaw. You know what that means. His blood is on his own head. Any man may shoot him down. No man may be called to account for doing so. Do you hear me? It is the law of Iceland, the law of Denmark, the law of the world. He is an outlaw, and killing him is no murder. Follow him up! Twenty thousand kroner to the man who lays him at my feet."

He would have said more, for he was heaving with passion, and his white face had grown purple, but his tongue seemed suddenly paralyzed, and his wide eyes fixed themselves on something at the outskirts of the crowd. One thin and wrinkled hand he lifted up and pointed tremblingly over the heads of the people. "There!" he said in a smothered cry, and after that he was silent.

The crowd shifted and looked round, amid a deep murmur of surprise and expectation. Then by one of the involuntary impulses that move great assemblies, the solid wall of human beings seemed to part of itself, and make a way for someone.

It was Red Jason, carrying Michael Sunlocks across his breast and shoulder. His bronzed cheeks were worn, his sunken eyes burned with a dull fire. He strode on, erect and strong, through the riven way of men and women. A breathless silence seemed to follow him. When he came to the foot of the Mount, he stopped, and let Sunlocks drop gently to the ground. Sunlocks was insensible, and his piteous white face looked up at the heavy dome of the sky. A sensation of awe held the vast crowd spellbound. It was as if the Almighty God had heard the blasphemy of that miserable old man, and given him on the instant his impious wish.

IV.

Then, in that breathless silence, Jason stood erect and said, in a firm, clear, sonorous voice, "You know who I am. Some of you hate me. Some of you fear me. All of you think me a sort of wild beast among men. That is why you caged me. But I have broken my bars, and brought this man along with me."

The men on the Mount had not time to breathe under the light and fire that flashed upon them when Jason lifted his clenched hand and said, "O, you that dwell in peace; you that go to your beds at night; you that eat when you are hungry and drink when you are athirst, and rest when you are weary: would to God you could know by bitter proof what this poor man has suffered. But _I_ know it, and I can tell you what it has been. Where is your Michael Sunlocks, that I may tell it to him? Which is he? Point him out to me."

Then the people drew a deep breath, for they saw in an instant what had befallen these two men in the dread shaping of their fate.

"Where is he?" cried Jason, again.

And in a voice quivering with emotion, the Judge said:

"Don't you know the man you've brought here?"

"No--yes--yes," cried Jason. "My brother--my brother in suffering--my brother in misery--that's all I know or care. But where is your Michael Sunlocks? I have something to say to him. Where is he?"

Jorgen Jorgensen had recovered himself by this time, and pressing forward, he said with a cruel smile,

"You fool; shall I tell you where he is?"

"Heaven forbid it!" said the Bishop, stepping out and lifting both hands before the Governor's face. But in that instant Jason had recognized Jorgen Jorgensen.

"I know this old man," he said. "What is he doing here? Ah, God pity me, I had forgotten. I saw him at the mines. Then he is back. And, now I remember, he is Governor again."

Saying this, an agony of bewilderment quivered in his face. He looked around.

"Then where is Michael Sunlocks?" he cried in a loud voice. "Where is he? Which is he? Who is he? Will no one tell me? Speak! For the merciful Christ's sake let some one speak."

There was a moment of silence, in which the vast crowd trembled as one man with wonder and dismay. The Bishop and Judge stood motionless. Jorgen Jorgensen smiled bitterly and shook his head, and Jason raised his right hand to cover his face from the face of the insensible man at his feet, as if some dark foreshadowing of the truth had swept over him in an instant.

What happened thereafter Jason never knew, only that there was a shrill cry and a rustle like a swirl of wind, only that someone was coming up behind him through the walls of human beings, that still stood apart like riven rocks, only that in a moment a woman had flung herself over the prostrate body of his comrade, embracing it, raising it in her arms, kissing its pale cheeks, and sobbing over it, "My husband! my husband."

It was Greeba. When the dark mist had cleared away from before his eyes, Jason saw her and knew her. At the same instant he saw and knew his destiny, that his yoke-fellow had been Michael Sunlocks, that his lifelong enemy had been his life's sole friend.

It was a terrible discovery, and Jason reeled under the shock of it like a beast that is smitten to its death. And while he stood there, half-blind, half-deaf, swaying to and fro as if the earth rocked beneath him, across his shoulders, over his cheeks and his mouth and his eyes fell the lash of the tongue of Jorgen Jorgensen.

"Yes, fool that you are and have been," he cried in his husky voice, "that's where your Michael Sunlocks is."

"Shame! Shame!" cried the people.

But Jorgen Jorgensen showed no pity or ruth.

"You have brought him here to your confusion," he cried again, "and it's not the first time you've taken this part to your own loss."

More he would have said in the merciless cruelty of his heart, only that a deep growl came up from the crowd and silenced him.

But Jason heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing, save that Michael Sunlocks lay at his feet, that Greeba knelt beside him, and that she was coaxing him, caressing him, and kissing him back to life.

"Michael," she whispered, "Michael! My poor Michael!" she murmured, while she moistened his lips and parched tongue with the brenni-vin from the horn of some good man standing near.

Jason saw this and heard this, though he had eyes and ears for nothing besides. And thinking, in the wild tumult of his distempered brain, that such tenderness might have been his, should have been his, must have been his, but for this man who had robbed him of this woman, all the bitterness of his poisoned heart rose up to choke him.

He remembered his weary life with this man, his sufferings with him, his love for him, and he hated himself for it all. What devil of hell had made sport of him, to give him his enemy for his friend? How Satan himself must shriek aloud to see it, that he who had been thrice robbed by this man--robbed of a father, robbed of a mother, robbed of a wife--should in his blindness tend him, and nurse him, and carry him with sweat of blood over trackless wastes that he might save him alive for her who waited to claim him!

Then he remembered what he had come for, and that all was not yet done. Should he do it after all? Should he give this man back to this woman? Should he renounce his love and his hate together--his love of this woman, his hate of this man? Love? Hate? Which was love? Which was hate? Ah, God! They were one; they were the same. Heaven pity him, what was he to do?

Thus the powers of good and the powers of evil wrestled together in Jason's heart for mastery. But the moment of their struggle was short. One look at the piteous blind face lying on Greeba's bosom, one glance at the more piteous wet face that hung over it, and love had conquered hate in that big heart forever and forever.

Jason was recalled to himself by a dull hum of words that seemed to be spoken from the Mount. Someone was asking why he had come there, and brought Michael Sunlocks along with him. So he lifted his hand, partly to call attention, partly to steady himself, and in a broken voice he said these words:--

"Men and women, if you could only know what it means that you have just witnessed, I think it would be enough to move any man. You know what I am--a sort of bastard who has never been a man among men, but has walked alone all the days of his life. My father killed my mother, and so I vowed to kill my father. I did not do it, for I saved him out of the sea, and he died in my arms, as you might say, doating on the memory of another son. That son's mother had supplanted my mother and that son himself had supplanted me, so I vowed to kill him for his father's sake. I did not do that neither. I had never once set eyes on my enemy, I had done nothing but say what I meant to do, when you took me and tried me and condemned me. Perhaps that was injustice, such as could have been met with nowhere save here in Iceland, yet I thank God for it now. By what chance I do not know, but in that hell to which you sent me, where all names are lost and no man may know his yoke-fellow, except by his face if he has seen it, I met with one who became my friend, my brother, my second self. I loved him, as one might love a little child. And he loved me--yes, me,--I could swear it. You had thought me a beast, and shut me out from the light of day and the company of Christian men. But he made me a man, and lit up the darkness of my night."

His deep strong voice faltered, and he stopped, and nothing was audible save the excited breathing of the people. Greeba was looking up into his haggard face with amazement written upon her own.

"Must I go on," he cried, in a voice rent with agony. "I have brought him here, and he is Michael Sunlocks. My brother in suffering is my brother in blood. The man I have vowed to slay is the man I have tried to save."

Some of the people could not restrain their tears, and the white faces of the others quivered visibly.

"Why have you brought him here?" asked the Judge.

At that moment Michael Sunlocks began to move and to moan, as if consciousness were coming back to him. Jorgen Jorgensen saw this, and the proud composure with which he had looked on and listened while Sunlocks lay like a man dead left him in an instant.

"Why have you brought Michael Sunlocks here?" said the Judge again.

"Why has he brought him here?" said Jorgen Jorgensen bitterly. "To be arrested. That's why he has brought him here. See, the man is coming to. He will do more mischief yet, unless he is prevented. Take him," he shouted to two of the guards from Krisuvik, who had come with Greeba, and now stood behind her.

"Wait!" cried the Judge, lifting his hand.

There was no gainsaying his voice, and the guards who had stepped forward dropped back.

Then he turned to Jason again and repeated his question, "Why have you brought Michael Sunlocks here?"

At that, Jorgen Jorgensen lost all self-control and shouted, "Take him, I say!" And facing about to the Judge he said, "I will have you know, sir, that I am here for Denmark and must be obeyed."

The guards stepped forward again, but the crowd closed around them and pushed them back.

Seeing this, Jorgen Jorgensen grew purple with rage, and turning to the people, he shouted at the full pitch of his voice, "Listen to me. Some minutes past, I put a price on that man's head. I said I would give you twenty thousand kroner. I was wrong. I will give you nothing but your lives and liberty. You know what that means. You have bent your necks under the yoke already, and you may have to do it again. Arrest that man--arrest both men!"

"Stop!" cried the Judge.

"Those men are escaped prisoners," said Jorgen Jorgensen.

"And this is the Mount of Laws, and here is Althing," said the Judge; "and prisoners or no prisoners, if they have anything to say, by the ancient law of Iceland they may say it now."

"Pshaw! your law of Iceland is nothing to me," said Jorgen Jorgensen, and turning to the crowd he cried, "In the name of the King of Denmark I command you to arrest those men."

"And in the name of the King of Kings," said the Judge, turning after him, "I command you to let them alone."

There was a dead hush for a moment, and then the Judge looked down at Jason and said once more, "Why have you brought Michael Sunlocks here! Speak!"

But before Jason could make answer, Jorgen Jorgensen had broken in again:

"My guards are at Reykjavik," he cried, "and I am here alone. You are traitors, all of you, and if there is no one else to arrest that enemy of my country, I will do it myself. He shall go no further. Step back from him."

So saying, he opened his cloak, drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it. A shrill cry arouse from the crowd. The men on the Mount stood quaking with fear, and Greeba flung herself over the restless body of Michael Sunlocks.

But Jason did not move a feature.

"Old man," he said, looking up with eyes as steadfast as the sun into Jorgensen's face, and pointing towards Sunlocks, "if you touch one hair of this head, these hands will tear you to pieces."

Then one of the men who had stood near, a rough fellow with a big tear-drop rolling down his tanned cheeks, stepped up to Jason's side, and without speaking a word offered him his musket; but Jason calmly pushed it back. There was dead silence once more. Jorgen Jorgensen's uplifted hand fell to his side, and he was speechless.

"Speak now," said the Judge. "Why have you brought Michael Sunlocks here?"

Jason stood silent for a moment as if to brace himself up, and then he said, "I have laid my soul bare to your gaze already, and you know what I am and where I come from."

A low moan seemed to echo him.

"But I, too, am an Icelander, and this is our ancient Mount of Laws, the sacred ground of our fathers and our fathers' fathers for a thousand years."

A deep murmur rose from the vast company.

"And I have heard that if any one is wronged and oppressed and unjustly punished, let him but find his way to this place, and though he be the meanest slave that wipes his forehead, yet he will be a man among you all."

There were loud cries of assent.

"I have also heard that this Mount, on this day, is as the gate of the city in old time, when the judges sat to judge the people; and that he who is permitted to set foot on it, and cross it, though he were as guilty as the outlaws that hide in the desert, is innocent and free forever after. Answer me--is it true? Yes or no?"

"Yes! yes!" came from a thousand throats.

"Then, judges of Iceland, fellow-men and brothers, do you ask why I have brought this man to this place? Look at this bleeding hand." He lifted the right hand of Sunlocks. "It has been pierced with a nail." A deep groan came from the people. He let the hand fall back. "Look at these poor eyes. They are blind. Do you know what that means? It means hellish barbarity and damned tyranny."

His voice swelled until it seemed to shake the very ground on which he stood. "What this man's crime may be I do not know, and I do not care. Let it be what it will, let the man be what he may--a felon like myself, a malefactor, a miscreant, a monster--yet what crime and what condition deserves punishment that is worse than death and hell?"

"None, none," shouted a thousand voices.

"Then, judges of Iceland, fellow-men and brothers, I call on you to save this man from that doom. Save him for his sake--save him for your own, for He that dwells above is looking down on you."

He paused a moment and then cried, "Listen!"

There was a low rumble as of thunder. It came not from the clouds, but from the bowels of the earth. The people turned pallid with dismay, but Jason's face was lit up with a wild frenzy.

"Do you hear it? It is the voice that was heard when these old hills were formed, and the valleys ran like fire. It is the voice of the Almighty God calling on you."

The word was like a war cry. The people answered it with a shout. And still Jason's voice pealed over their heads.

"Vengeance is God's but mercy belongs to man."

He stooped to Michael Sunlocks, where Greeba held him at her bosom, picked him up in his arms as if he had been a child, turned his face towards the Mount and cried, "Let me pass."

Then at one impulse, in one instant, the Judge and the Bishop parted and made a way, and Jason, carrying Sunlocks, strode up the causeway and swept through.

There was but one voice then in all that great assembly, and it was a mighty shout that seemed to rend the dome of the heavy sky. "Free! Free! Free!"

V.

But the end was not yet. More, and more terrible, is to follow, though the spirit is not fain to tell of it, and the hand that sets it down is trembling. Let him who thinks that this world of time is founded in justice, wait long and watch patiently, for up to the eleventh hour he may see the good man sit in misery, and the evil man carried in honor. And let him who thinks that Nature is sweet and benignant and that she leaps to the aid of the just, learn from what is to come that she is all things to all men and nothing to any man.

Now when Jason had crossed the Mount of Laws with Sunlocks, thinking that by virtue of old custom he had thereby set him free of tyranny, Jorgen Jorgensen did what a man of shallow soul must always do when he sees the outward signs of the holy things that move the deeper souls of other men. He smiled with bitterness and laughed with contempt.

"A pretty thing, truly," he sneered, "out of some forgotten age of musty laws and old barbarians. But there is something else that is forgotten. It is forgotten that between these two men, Jason and Michael Sunlocks, there is this difference, that the one is a prisoner of Iceland, and the other of Denmark. Jason is a prisoner of Iceland, a felon of Iceland, therefore Iceland may pardon him, and if this brave mummery has made him free, then so be it, and God pity you! But Michael Sunlocks is a prisoner of Denmark, a traitor against the crown of Denmark, therefore Denmark alone may pardon him--and he is still unpardoned."

The clamorous crowd that had gathered about Michael Sunlocks looked up in silence and bewilderment at this fresh blow. And Jorgen Jorgensen saw his advantage and went on.

"Ask your Lagmann and let him answer you. Is it as I say or is it not? Ask him."

The people looked from face to face of the men on the Mount, from Jorgen Jorgensen to the Judge and from the Judge to the Bishop.

"Is this true?" shouted a voice from the crowd.

But the Judge made no answer, and the Bishop said, "Why all this wrangling over the body of a dying man?"

"Dying indeed!" said Jorgen Jorgensen, and he laughed. "Look at him." Michael Sunlocks, again lying in the arms of Greeba, was showing signs of life. "He will recover fast enough when all is over."

"Is it true?" shouted the same voice from the crowd.

"Yes," said the Judge.

Then the look of bewilderment in the faces of the people deepened to consternation. At that moment Michael Sunlocks was raised to his feet. And Jorgen Jorgensen, standing like an old snuffy tiger on the watch, laughed again, and turning to Jason he pointed at Sunlocks and said, "What did I say? A pretty farce truly, this pretence at unconsciousness. Small good it has done him. And he has little to thank you for. You have brought him here to his death."

What answer Jason would have made him, no man may say, for at that moment the same terrestrial thunder that had been heard before was heard again, and the earth became violently agitated as with a deep pulsation. The people looked into each other's faces with dismay, and scarcely had they realized the horror that waited to pour itself out on the world, when a man came galloping from the south and crying, "The mountains are coming down at Skaptar. Fly! fly!"

They stopped the man and questioned him, and he answered, with terror in his eyes, that the ice-mountain itself was sweeping down into the plain. Then he put his heels to his horse and broke away.

Hardly had the people heard this dread word when another man came galloping from the southwest, and crying, "The sea is throwing up new islands at Reykianess, and all the rivers are dry."

They stopped this man also, and questioned him, and he answered that the sky at the coast was raining red-hot stones, so that the sea hissed with them, and all the land was afire. Then he, too, put his heels to his horse and broke away.

Scarcely had he gone, when a third man came galloping from the southeast, and crying, "The land around Hekla is washed away, and not a green place is left on the face of the earth."

This man also they stopped and questioned, and he answered that a torrent of boiling water was rolling down from the Kotlugia yakul, hurling ice-blocks before it, and sweeping farms, churches, cattle, horses, and men, women, and children into the sea. Then this man also put his heels to his horse and broke away, like one pursued by death itself.

For some moments thereafter the people stood where the men had left them, silent, helpless, unable to think or feel. Then there rose from them all, as from one man, such a shriek of mortal agony as never before came from human breasts. In their terror they ran hither and thither, without thought or intention. They took to their tents, they took to their ponies, they galloped north, they galloped south, they galloped east, they galloped west, and then came scurrying back to the Mount from which they had started. A great danger was about to burst upon them, but they could not tell from what direction it would come. Some remembered their homes and the wives and children they had left there. Others thought only of themselves and of the fire and water that were dealing out death.

In two minutes the Mount was a barren waste, the fissures on its sides were empty, and the seats on the crags were bare. The Thing-men and the clergy were rushing to and fro in the throng, and the old Bishop and the Judge were seeking their horses.

Greeba stood, with fear on her face, by the side of Michael Sunlocks, who, blind and maimed, unable to see what was going on about him, not knowing yet where he was and what new evil threatened him, looked like a man who might have been dead and was awakening to consciousness in a world of the damned.

Two men, and two only, of all that vast multitude, kept their heads and were cool through this mad panic. One of these was Jorgen Jorgensen; the other was Red Jason. They watched each other constantly, the one with the eyes of the lynx, the other with the eyes of a lion.

A troop of men came riding through the throng from the direction of the Chasm of Ravens. Twenty of them were the bodyguard of the Governor, and they pushed their way to the feet of Jorgen Jorgensen.

"Your Excellency," said one of them, "we had news of you that you would want us; so we made bold to come."

"You have come in time," said Jorgen Jorgensen, and his cruel eyes flashed with the light of triumph.

"There has been a great eruption of Skaptar," said the man, "and the people of the south are flocking into Reykjavik."

"Leave old Skaptar to take care of itself," said Jorgen Jorgensen, "and do you take charge of that man there, and the woman beside him."

So saying, he pointed towards Michael Sunlocks, who, amid the whirl of the crowd around, had stood still in his helpless blindness.

Jason saw and heard all, and he shouted to the people to come to his help, for he was one man against twenty. But the people paid no heed to his calling, for every man was thinking of himself. Then Jason fell on the guards with his bare hands only. And his mighty muscles would have made havoc of many of them, but that Jorgen Jorgensen drew his pistol again and fired at him, and wounded him. Jason knew nothing of his injury until his right arm fell to his side, bleeding and useless. After that, he was seized from behind and from before, and held to the ground while Michael Sunlocks and Greeba were hurried away.

Then the air began to be filled with smoke, a wind that was like a solid wall of black sand swept up from the south, and sudden darkness covered everything.

"It is the lava!" shouted one.

"It's the fiery flood!" shouted another.

"It's the end of the world!" shouted a third.

And at one impulse the people rushed hither, thither--north, south, east, west--some weeping, some shrieking, some swearing, some laughing like demons--all wild with frenzy and mad with terror.

Jorgen Jorgensen found his little piebald pony where he had left it, for the docile beast, with the reins over its head, was munching the grass at the foot of the causeway. He mounted, and rode past Jason as the men were loosening their hold of him, and peering into his face he said with a sneer, "If this is the end of the world, as they say, make the best of what is left of it, and fly."

With that, he thrust spurs into his horse's sides, and went off at utmost speed.

Then Jason was alone on the plain. Not another human soul was left. The crowd was gone; the Mount of Laws was silent, and a flock of young sheep ran past it bleating. Over the mountains to the south a red glow burned along the black sky, and lurid flames shot through it.

Such was the beginning of the eruption of Skaptar. And Jason staggered along in the day-darkness, alone, abandoned, shouting like a maniac, swearing like a man accursed, crying out to the desolate waste and the black wind sweeping over it, that if this were the end of the world, he had a question to ask of Him who made it: Why He had broken His word, which said that the wages of sin was death--why the avenger that was promised had not come to smite down the wicked and save the just?

VI.

In this valley of the Loberg there is a long peninsula of rock stretching between the western bank of the lake and the river called the Oxara. It begins in a narrow neck where is a pass for one horse only, and ends in a deep pool over a jagged precipice, with a mighty gorge of water falling from the opposite ravine. It is said that this awful place was used in ancient days for the execution of women who had killed their children, and of men who had robbed the widow and the orphan.

Near the narrowest part of the peninsula a man was plunging along in the darkness, trusting solely to the sight of his pony, for his own eyes could see nothing. Two long hours he had been groping his way from the Mount of Laws, and he was still within one short mile of it. But at last he saw help at hand in his extremity, for a man on foot approached him out of the gloom. He took him for a farmer of those parts, and hailed him with hearty cheer.

"Good man," he said, "put me on the right path for Reykjavik, and you shall have five kroner, and welcome."

But scarcely had he spoken when he recognized the man he had met, and the man recognized him. The one was Jason, and the other Jorgen Jorgensen.

Jorgen Jorgensen thought his hour had come, for, putting his hand to his weapon, he remembered that he had not reloaded it since he had shot at Jason, and so he flung it away. But the old tiger was not to be subdued. "Come," he said, out of the black depths of his heart, "let us have done. What is it to be?"

Then Jason stepped back, and said, "That is the way to Reykjavik--over the stream and through the first chasm on the left."

At this, Jorgen Jorgensen seemed to catch his breath. He tried to speak and could not.

"No," said Jason. "It may be weakness, it may be folly, it may be madness, but you were my mother's father, God pity her and forgive you, and not even at the price of my brother's life will I have your blood on my hands. Go!"

Jorgen Jorgensen touched his horse and rode on, with his gray, dishonored head deep in his breast. And, evil man as he was, surely his cold heart was smitten with shame.